“I can’t marry you, Mr. Buckland,” she said tremulously. “I don’t deny I’m gratified by the feeling you have for me, though I know I don’t a bit deserve it. Believe me, you would be miserable if I were to listen to you: I can imagine nothing more terrible for you than to have a wife like me, with a capricious and headstrong temper, and a will that leads her into all sorts of ways which she would perhaps have done better to avoid. So I thank you, but I can only give you one answer.” He came a little nearer. “Rachel,” he said, “think again. Think it all over quietly--to-night--by yourself, and then answer me afterwards. Think whether you would not rather give up the life that makes you miserable, for the life which would make you happy. Don’t answer me now; think it over first. Will you?” She hesitated. This proud, headstrong girl was always easily moved as a child when once he touched the right chord, as he seemed to be able to do at will. “Yes, yes, I will,” she said, in a timid tone, like a very, very young girl confronted by a difficult choice; “but I’m afraid--” “Don’t be afraid of anything yet. Weigh what I’ve said against what others say, and decide which offers you the best chance of happiness.” There was a short silence, Rachel trembling and not looking at him, he watching her with tender, imploring eyes. Suddenly there appeared between them the figure of Denver Van Santen, and Gerard started back a step with a shock. “Why, my dear girl,” said the swaggering American, “I didn’t know what had become of you. Did you mean to give me the slip?” As he spoke, he offered her his arm with an air of confident devotion which nettled Gerard immensely. And without so much as a glance at the timid, passionate English lover, whose look and attitude were eloquently expressive of his feelings, Miss Davison put her hand caressingly through Denver’s proffered arm. “Of course I didn’t,” she said, in a very much more openly affectionate tone than she had ever used to Gerard. “How could you think I would do such a thing, Denver?” Raising his hat mechanically, Gerard stepped back, with a look on his face as if he had been stabbed to the heart. CHAPTER XVII Gerard could scarcely believe his eyes when he saw how completely Miss Davison appeared to have forgotten his very existence the moment the American came up. Denver, on his side, treated his rival as if he had never seen him before. Gerard thought, indeed, that the young American had perhaps failed to recognize him. For neither he nor Rachel had been speaking for some moments when they were startled by the figure appearing between them. But that Miss Davison should behave with such marked incivility puzzled and bewildered him. Not the usual gracious smile and bow of farewell did she vouchsafe him as she walked away, listening amiably to the eager talk of the American, smiling in answer to his remarks, and behaving exactly as if she were enjoying his society to the utmost.